


Agnus Dei

by Sookierivers



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Multi, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:41:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25080292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sookierivers/pseuds/Sookierivers
Summary: Dominica Bellucci never had an easy life. Since her teenage years, she had sworn to herself that she would never again allow any man to even come near her.That was until she met Hannibal Lecter.The love and devotion she had for him knew no earthly bounds.  She was fully aware she would do anything he asked her, and he knew that very well. But secrets made her flee and disappear for five years, returning when she felt ready to leave them behind. Life, however, had gone on without her, and she discovers that someone had possibly taken her place in the life of the renowned psychiatrist.But she would have her old life back. Whatever it cost.
Relationships: Alana Bloom/Original Female Character(s), Hannibal Lecter/Original Female Character(s), Will Graham/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 25





	1. Rientranza

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, beautiful. I watched Hannibal in the middle of last year and fell head over heels in love with the series and, consequently, with the characters. I had to write something about it 'cause my mind kept begging me for it.
> 
> However, not everything is light, especially not Hannibal. Since it's a show about serial killers, this story contains a lot of violence, gore, that kind of things. And that's why I am writing this disclaimer, because you will find many topics that might trigger you a little in this fic, dear reader. We have violence to spare, very explicit scenes, trigger for rape, and many more things that can make more sensitive people feel bad, and there is no problem with that, respect your limits, people. Seriously. 
> 
> So that's it, I came here to give this warning to anyone who has a problem with more abrupt topics, ignore this story or at least read carefully, if you are stubborn. The warning was given. I hope you enjoy reading this fic as much as I am enjoying writing it. Kisses <3

## DOMINICA

“Ma’am, we’ve just landed in Baltimore.” A gentle touch on Dominica’s shoulder made the woman suddenly open her dark blue eyes, looking around her and remembering her decision of taking a small nap about two hours ago on her flight from France to America. Planes left her ridiculously relaxed, the smooth movements of the ship almost lulling her maternally and lovingly. She didn’t even feel the landing, probably the ills of the jetlag were beginning to show. It was the only bad thing about taking long trips on airplanes, at least for her.

She looked up at the calm features of the flight attendant who had woken her, smiling slightly as she stretched nonchalantly in the soft first-class chair. Of course, it wasn't just the jetlag, the big glasses of that wonderful wine that she liked so much certainly influenced that well-taken nap. She felt almost new, and God knew she would need some wild strength that afternoon.

“Thank you, dear. That wine relaxed me more than I intended, didn't it?” She gave a charming wink before putting on the Gucci sunglasses she had “borrowed” from that unbearable billionaire in Florence. At least he was good and served for something, besides tormenting her with all that senseless love that had become a tragic obsession. He liked to pamper her with only the best. It had given her the strength to endure that situation a little more before finally deciding to return home.

Dominica reached out with her hand of perfectly manicured red nails in a stiletto model, taking the glass of wine and drinking the last sips, not wanting to waste any drops of that Bâtart-Montrachet. Finally, she got up and took her handbag, tidying her long red hair as she pulled on her favorite leather jacket. The flight attendant watched her with almost adoration, studying her movements in case she ever became someone like her one day.

Dominica got off the plane and walked down the landing strip, passing family members and friends of the other passengers who held signs with the names of those who disembarked. She watched the warm and excited embraces, the passionate kisses of two lovers and, for a single moment, envied them. All of them. Out of pure self-admitted spite, she did not stop any longer than necessary to observe, knowing that there would be no one holding a sign with her name on it, or hugging her affectionately and saying that he had missed her.

After all, nobody knew about her sudden return. The horror of that thought almost made her buy a ticket back to France, but she remembered that she belonged there. Or at least she would have to belong, even if for a while.

She walked over to the baggage claim in a hurry, taking her four well-stuffed suitcases and placing them on a cart. Only then she walked to the car rental company, hoping the process would be swift, since anxiety was eating her from inside out. There were so many familiar faces that she intended to review, so many places to visit ... Fortunately, when people realize you have money and good conditions, everything magically goes faster, and in just over forty minutes, she left the airport in a beautiful Corvette 2014. The car practically slid on the streets of Baltimore, the wind ruffling Dominica's hair and almost making it look like her head was on fire due the bright orange color of her hair. A curious gene to have in an Italian woman, but her mother was a fat, freckled Scotswoman, her skin very white and her hair adding an exaggerated contrast. Her father, on the other hand, was the typical handsome Italian, with almond skin, black curly hair framing his Herculean face. Too handsome for his own good. It made Dominica practically a mutt, but she didn't care, at least not anymore. She had the most striking parts of her mother, like her red hair, her white skin that, no matter how many times she tried to tan, always made her burn and red like a shrimp, and her serious dark blue eyes that didn't quite fit her personality.

From her father, though, she inherited his italian blood, including the erratic temper, her full lips and the beautiful curves that defined her body. She was the perfect combination of the two species, and she would change practically nothing in itself, especially her bright, red hair. She loved it with her entire being, not only her, but also the person she was about to meet. The car's GPS gave her instructions, but she didn't need this technology artifice, she knew exactly where she was going, the path remembered by heart in her mind. Her hands were sweating, her fingers squeezing the wheel so tight that her knuckles were albescent. 

Would Hannibal Lecter take her back? Would he like to see her?

In all her life, Hannibal was the person she had known the longest and, perhaps for that reason, who knew her best. He was her mentor, father, brother and best friend. He was the person she was most attached to, and she would do anything for him.

Even run away, if necessary. As she had done. Not that he didn't know where she was, he knew her well enough to know every single place she had settled in the last five years of “recess”. The postcards that arrived at her hiding places made her sure of that. At first it was frustrating, and she really considered going back and forgetting that nonsense about leaving. But then, Dominica began to find each arrival of the postcards comforting. As if he was always taking care of her, even if he was far away. There was no escape from Hannibal, not for her. After five years, she barely remembered the reason for leaving, the longing she felt for him beginning to flood her.

But he wasn’t the only one she missed.

She grabbed her phone, dialing with one hand while holding the wheel with the other one. Would it still be the same number? Would the surprise be welcome?

The call ringed for a few seconds, and a “hello” made a chill in the belly to settle quickly inside Dominica. For a moment, she felt as if an invisible hand was twisting her insides, turning her over. 

“Buongiorno, principessa.” She greeted her as she always did in reference to an old Italian film they had watched a long time ago, when everything seemed easier and more peaceful. The memory made her chest ache for a moment, and she waited anxiously for her old friend's reaction.

“I can’t believe it.” Alana Bloom's incredulous and revolted tone brought a smile to her lips. She had missed that voice. She could vividly imagine the brunette's incredulous expression, her thin lips parted and her brows furrowed, her skin beginning to show a frustrated flush. “What do you want?”

“Why, that wasn’t polite,” Dominica teased, then giggled. “I'm back in Baltimore. I want to see you.”

Alana let out an ironic laughter so loud that Dominica had to pull the phone away from her ear a little bit, frowning. She wasn’t understanding Alana. She thought that, after all they had lived, she would be missing her and would be happy to see her.

“You disappear out of the blue for five years and come back even more out of the blue wanting to see me? Now you want to see me? I had to find out from Hannibal you were gone, nor did he know of your whereabouts. Do you have any idea how I was, how I felt?” Alana's voice trembled, which made Dominica straighten up on the car seat. She wasn't crying, was she?

“I didn’t know.” She replied in a very serious tone, her smug smile that framed her lips vanishing completely “I _wanna_ see you, Lana.”

Alana hesitated, only her ragged breathing could be heard. The seconds felt like hours, and the moment Dominica was going to call her name to make sure the call hadn't been cut, Alana sighed.

“I don’t think this is a good idea.” She said. “It would do me no good.”

“Am I not entitled to a chance to redeem myself? After all we had? All the good things we went through? I know I'm wrong, I had no right to disappear that way. But it was for good reasons.” Dominica insisted as she parked the car in front of Hannibal's big house. “Listen, I have to go now. But as soon as I settle in, I will meet you. See you soon, Alana.”

Dominica hung up, taking a deep breath. There was no turning back now, Hannibal had probably already noticed that someone arrived by car and was already alert. She waited for a few more seconds while trying to calm her breathing and finally opened the car door, disembarking and stepping with her Manolo Blahnik boots on the gray gravel, enjoying the sound that the sole of the shoe made on the little stones. She took a few seconds to admire the architecture of that house. Much from there she herself had chosen, but she had to admit that her and Hannibal's tastes complemented each other perfectly. It was one of the many things the two of them had in common; the cult of beauty and perfect aesthetics.

She took a few more steps towards the house, finally stopping in front of the large wooden door that seemed so overwhelming to her, reaching out to ring the bell. However, before her finger could touch the cold surface, the door was suddenly opened, making her take two cautious steps back.

The first thing Dominica sensed was the smell. As she lived with Hannibal for many years, her nose had been very well trained, and the Lithuanian man wore only the best perfumes in the world. He was always smelling wonderfully well. His perfumes were custom-made in one of the best perfumeries in Paris. Today's one had touches of sandalwood, musk, cloves and a light touch of red wine. All elements of the fragrances were genuine, nothing was synthetic. Although her sense of smell was trained, she didn't have the capacity to feel much of a difference, but she knew that, for Hannibal, it was like drinking milk straight from the cow and drinking a glass of processed milk from a box. He always had this overdeveloped sense of smell, the frightening ability to identify if a subject had a terminal illness just by smelling the scent emanating from him. She vaguely remembered one day that she had caught a very bad cold and was burning with fever, and how Hannibal leaned over to smell the top of her hair. When asked how the fever smelled, he replied that it was just like a very sweet, sickening aroma, like rotten apricot. It was only a small part of how fascinating Hannibal could be.

When he saw her, a small smile of satisfaction crossed his lips, a smile that did not reach his cold eyes. Dominica was not bothered by this, however. They usually never did. Hannibal had a hard time expressing his emotions.

“The prodigal daughter returns.” He measured her up and down, approving her, his eyes now shining with triumph. He knew she would be back eventually. “Welcome back, Dominica.”

Dominica blew out a breath, relief replacing overwhelming apprehension. She had been well received, after all. Her arrival had not been frowned upon. Hannibal opened his arms and she did not hesitate to embrace him, crashing lightly against his torso and being engulfed by the delicious aroma of his perfume. The redhead was amazed at how much she had missed him. She knew it was only a matter of time before she came back, she couldn't get rid of Hannibal's influence. He was, after all, the only family she had.

“It has been a while” Hannibal spoke in a unconcerned tone, and Dominica broke the physical contact, staring at him while nodding. “Is this a definitive return?”

“Yes!” She did not hesitate to answer, hugging her body defensively “If ... If you take me back, of course.”

Hannibal smiled slightly, reaching out to caress Dominica's cheek. She tilted her head toward the touch, looking for a moment like a cat with very orange fur.

“There will always be a place for you in this house, Dominica.” He kissed the redhead's forehead affectionately, practically melting her. She did not understand the fear of not being accepted by him. They belonged to each other, it was a fact.

The two of them walked to the car, unloading the many suitcases and taking them towards the house. Dominica followed Hannibal awkwardly by the weight of her suitcases to the room where she used to stay, her own room that she had missed so much. No bed was like that. No matter how much she searched. 

She gasped with surprise when she saw that it was exactly as she left it five years ago, with the exception of the bed, which was very well lined. On her dressing table, she still had her favorite hairbrush and some makeup that didn't fit in the suitcase. She was gone in a hurry, after all. Many things had been left behind.

Hannibal placed her suitcases beside the bed, finally looking at Dominica, who was still leaning against the doorframe. Her chin was trembling, and those very blue eyes were full of tears. She didn't know how to define what she felt at that moment.

“I’m sorry, Hannibal.” She requested while staring at the floor. "I shouldn't have left that way. I…"

She opened her mouth, but no more sound came out. A sense of guilt immediately filled her chest, and her chin trembled as if in the middle of a blizzard. She felt extremely ungrateful, especially after all that Hannibal had done for her.

Hannibal approached, holding her affectionately by the hair and kissing her forehead. Dominica closed her eyes, feeling cradled as he rested his face on her hair and stroked her back with the tips of his long, thin fingers. She wrapped her arms around Hannibal's torso, leaning her head on his shoulder. The boots she wore made her taller, she usually kept the top of her head on his shoulder, but now she could rest her chin on it.

“You are here now, Dominica.” He said in a comforting tone, which immediately made her feel better.

The moment didn’t last long, however. As she saw a shadow by the door, Dominica was startled, pulling away from Hannibal like a cornered wild animal. By focusing her eyes, she could see a girl with very white skin, long, dark, flowing hair, and very big, blue eyes. She did not appear to be more than twenty years old, and her pupils were so dilated that Dominica had some difficulty in distinguishing the blue around them.

“Who is this?” She asked, cursing herself mentally for sounding so hostile. A bad feeling settled in her chest. Had he replaced her? She tried in vain to fix the expression of disgust on her face, even though she knew that Hannibal had probably picked it up since the beginning of the interaction. He had always been good at reading people, especially Dominica.

“Dominica, this is Abigail Hobbs. Abigail, Dominica Bellucci. An esteemed friend of mine.” Hannibal introduced, making the redhead snort through her nose. Friend. It was much more than that, of course. Friend was not even close to defining their relationship.

“Hello.” Abigail greeted, her eyes shining like two round sapphires. “Her hair looks like autumn leaves. They're very pretty. My father and I used to hunt a lot in the fall. And your eyes ... They are so round and big. Like a doe's.”

Dominica tried to smile, but her face probably contorted in an unpleasant grimace. The girl smiled again and went on her way slowly, heading towards the living room. She thanked her mentally for that. She would’ve made a big fuss if she went into her room. It wouldn't be polite, and she knew how much Hannibal hated impoliteness.

“Is she staying for dinner?” Dominica forced a casual tone. “Or she _is_ the dinner?”

The last sentence, however, had come out laden with malice. It made Hannibal smile slightly, his cold eyes sparkling. With Dominica, he did not need the social mask that sometimes tired him. The girl's rivalry with Abigail amused him a little, and Hannibal wanted to incite her a little more to see what would happen.

Dominica's head slowly tilted towards her shoulder as she evaluated the girl, who was now walking down the hall towards the kitchen.

“No, Dominica. Abigail will join us today as a guest. Just like Alana Bloom, I presume.” He watched her closely, curious to see her reaction when talking about Alana. He knew that they both had a past. “Should I assume she already knows of your arrival?”

Dominica swallowed hard, lowering her gaze.

“Yeah. I called her before I got here. I was not well received, however.” Dominica replied, trying to hide the hurt in her voice. “What did you give to that girl? She could barely walk in a straight line.”

“Psilocybin. For nightmares.” He replied, and Dominica twisted her lips as she remembered the appearance of the little mushrooms. He had already been through this with her, at the time of those awful nightmares she used to have. It had been a ritual that had a great importance in Dominica's life and in who she was at the time, and the thought that he was now repeating that ritual with someone else caused yet another small blow to her mood.

“Well, since Alana's coming over for dinner, I'm going to see Jack first.” She changed the subject, taking off the leather jacket she was wearing and folding it, going over to her closet. Some of her old clothes were still there, and she just pushed the hangers aside, bothering to organize it later.

“Jack?” Hannibal asked, frowning slightly.

“Why, yes. Since I'm going to stay indefinitely, I would love to have my job back.” Dominica pulled out one of the suitcases. “I brought you gifts. Some Ermenegildo Zegna suits, Louis Vuitton shoes. Only the best, you deserve it.”

Hannibal smiled pompously; Dominica knew the air of importance that would give him. She then went to another suitcase, opening it on top of her bed. She removed a gray pinstripe suit from Valentino, a white linen blouse to wear underneath it, and black pumps from Gucci. She wanted to look as professional as possible, knowing that Jack was going to scold her for leaving that way, but she hoped that a good speech and visual image would help.

“What do you think?” She put the suit in front of the body, turning to Hannibal. “Professional enough?”

“You will need more than that to convince Jack Crawford. Besides... Someone has already filled your spot.” Hannibal said in a unconcerned tone. “Will you be coming for dinner, then?”

Dominica snorted, her lips coming together in a frustrated beak. Apparently, everyone had replaced her.

“You will need discipline, Dominica. Jack found his golden goose, someone as brilliant as you. Care will be necessary. You cannot make mistakes, be sure of that, this time you will get caught.”

The redhead's eyes lit up. That was a challenge. A cat and mouse game that she and Hannibal loved to play. Hell, she had really missed him. With him, there was no middle ground, there was no boredom. Even the act of pretending and wearing a social mask was intriguing, especially when Hannibal gave one of his wonderful dinners.

“Tell me more about it.” She asked with delight in her voice, lying on the bed belly down and resting her chin in her hands with an unconscious seductive air. The excitement made the blood act like an electric current in your veins.

Hannibal smiled approvingly.

“His name is Will Graham.”

#  **FBI ACADEMY, QUANTICO, VIRGINIA, 4:00 P.M.**

The clicks of Dominica's shoes echoed in the halls of the FBI Academy in Quantico. Her ginger hair swayed in perfect waves from side to side due the speed with which she moved. She wanted to get to Jack Crawford's office right away. In addition to being useful to her and Hannibal for obvious reasons, she really liked her position at the Behavioral Science Unit. Forensic psychiatry was her passion, and she enjoyed the hunt. She had missed it for the past five years.

“Someone came out of the woodwork, uh?” A voice caught her attention and Dominica turned, smiling slightly when she saw an old acquaintance.

“Beverly Katz. Well, well, well…” Dominica observed her lab coat. “Good to know that the FBI does not dismiss the good ones, even after five years.”

Beverly laughed as she shook her head in disbelief.

“Five years. Did you know that we had a bet on the Bureau? The reason for your sudden disappearance." She said in a thoughtful tone. “Needless to say, nobody won the bet, because we never found out why. Some lost because they bet you had been murdered, and then we learned that you were quite alive somewhere in Europe. Marrying a billionaire.”

It was Dominica's turn to laugh, with the same tone of disbelief and shook of head as Beverly a few seconds ago.

“Good to see you still have your morbidity, Bev. It is very well appreciated.”

“So?” Beverly asked, raising an eyebrow while crossing her arms, inquiring. “What was the reason for the disappearance?”

Dominica smiled with an enigmatic expression.

“A lady never tells.” She winked at Beverly, starting to walk again.

“Going to talk to Jack?” Beverly accompanied her, trying to make her curiosity casual “Are you going to get your job back?”

“Very perceptive, Miss Katz. But I’ve heard my spot has already been filled.” Dominica replied with unpretentiousness.

Beverly nodded.

“Good luck with that. He's as good as you. Less sociable, though.”

“You flatter me too much. If you continue, I might cry with the emotion.” Dominica raised her hand, squeezing the brunette's cheek playfully. “If he is as good as I am, then he must be very good. Amazing. But I’ve never been afraid of competition.”

“Outch!” Beverly slapped her hand away, massaging her cheek. “Always very humble, Bellucci. I have to get back to work, but I hope to see you around.”

“You will. See you soon, Katz.” Dominica said goodbye with a little wave, following her path.

Finally, she arrived at Jack Crawford's office. She banged her fist on the door twice and, after hearing a muffled “come in”, she turned the cold knob, pushing the door open and finally seeing him sitting in his bureau, watching an evidence board on the wall in front of him.

When he saw her, he sulked. Instantly.

“Ah, you. I knew you would come to see me. I just didn't know when.”

“... Me.” Dominica replied, and that just seemed to annoy him more. “Hello, Jack. It's been a long time.”

“It does. Ah, it does. “Jack confirmed. “Five years, to be exact.”

“How sweet of you to remember.” Dominica smiled, stepping forward and taking a seat in one of the chairs in front of the bureau, even though without a previous invitation. The two of them watched each other for a few seconds in silence, Jack snorting like a bull and frowning, and Dominica with her hands in her lap in a relaxed position, a small smile on her lips.

When she finally opened her mouth to speak, Jack cut her off abruptly.

“I hope you’re not here to try to regain your position, since you are back indefinitely in Baltimore. Yes," he added when he saw the surprised expression on Dominica's face. “Alana called me. You caused a huge disruption when you left, you had to do it on your way back as well.”

Dominica looked down in false remorse. She knew that moment was not one of wit, her smart answers used to irritate Jack when they were on good terms, let alone at that moment.

“I don't expect you and Alana to understand, but I also don't think there is a justification that you will find plausible.” She calculated well the words and her body expression, looking up and facing Jack. “I can't say the reason for leaving, it is strictly personal. But, it was something that devastated me and that I haven't overcome yet. The return to Baltimore hurts me a lot, but I need to resume my life as it was before everything. And part of my life was working with you. I miss doing what is right.”

Jack listened to her in silence, hands together in front of his lips, but Dominica noticed that his guard had lowered slightly. That speech was not all a lie, so it was easy to pass what she needed.

“I want to help people again.” She said at last, settling back in her chair and sounding firmer.

He assessed her for a few seconds, and Dominica never wavered.

“I can't have people I can't trust on my team. And when the next crisis comes? Will you abandon everything and run away again? I can't have that kind of irresponsibility on my back.” He replied, his tone still stern, but milder. Dominica nodded passively.

“You're absolutely right. But other than that, I gave you no reason to doubt my work and my ability. I'm good, and you know it. I like to think that, like Alana, we shared a friendship beyond work. So I'm asking, as a friend and a good professional, a vote of confidence. I propose an adjustment period. One month. If you think it won't work or if you still don't trust me, you can dismiss me. I’ll understand perfectly.”

Jack sighed, running his hands over his face. Dominica was so good at arguing, she should have majored in law. Devil's advocate. Especially when the whole argument was in her favor, it gave her an even greater motivation. She always had a way with words, just like Hannibal. He just helped to perfect it.

“Someone already has your position, Dominica. I can’t just ignore it. He’s as good as you.”

“Will Graham. I know.” Dominica replied, but then fell silent, waiting as she faced Jack. It would pressure him to give an immediate answer.

“One of the last cases demanded a lot from him. Garett Jacob Hobbs. The Minnesota's Shrike. If you've had time to talk to Hannibal, then you know he's been seeing Will.” Hobbs? Wasn’t that the surname of that Abigail girl who was staying for dinner? Interesting. “The thing is that our work is tough. You know it. Alana asked me not to put him on the field or demand too much of him, but the very condition Will has requires a lot. However, it helps him to save people.”

Jack paused, and Dominica refrained from rolling her eyes, feigning sympathy. How much drama. If he was so troubled, why not get him out of the position? She was back, wasn't she? She was going to have to share the job with that Graham, She knew it.

“You want me to help him lessen that burden of work, then.” She was being punished. That could only be it. Having the job back, but not quite, and still serving as a sitter of an grown-up man. Dominica hid her bored tone and face, and Beverly's words came back to her. _“He's as good as you. Less sociable, though.”_ Great, a troubled grown man who would certainly make her job difficult. And, from the way Hannibal spoke of him, she would have to take extra care to maintain the social mask.

“How does that sound to you?” Jack asked with a bland expression, but she felt the irony in his voice. Some uneducated curses crossed her mind at that moment, but she just smiled, nodding.

“If that’s the condition for being able to be useful, I accept.” Dominica smiled a forced, sick smile. It was done.

Now all she had to do was meet the Graham guy.


	2. Recitazione

## DOMINICA

#  **PARIS SURROUNDINGS, TWO YEARS AGO**

The man's cries of pain echoed in Dominica's ears, almost overlapping Beethoven's seventh symphony. She swayed slowly, her sharp eyes closed, almost rolling in their sockets for the pleasure of the moment. Throughout the song, she moved faster, then slowed down, following its movements like a maestro, a sharp scalpel in one hand acting like a baton, while she guided a non-existent orchestra. She hummed the tune softly, the sound barely leaving her lips, until finally the man's litany irritated her.

“Shut the fuck up! Damn it.” She screamed in perfect French, brandishing the scalpel and making a cut on his cheek, blood running like a scarlet tear. “I can't concentrate with this whining of yours. Don't you understand? There is no salvation for you. I won’t pity you, you will not escape your destiny. The world will be a better place without you, Gustav Lefebvre. Without you in the world, fewer children will find a horrible end in your hands. And mothers will sleep peacefully knowing that their spawn rest safely on their little pillows.

“I meant no harm, I’m a sick person!” The man shouted, white saliva bursting out of his nefarious mouth. Dominica's face contorted in utter disgust and contempt as the man tried to justify the atrocities he had committed. She frowned so much that the skin started to hurt, her ginger eyebrows clenched. Hatred built up in her chest and she felt the adrenaline take over her body, inciting her to move on.

The best moment was approaching. She watched him, so helpless in her trap. The man's arms, his waist, and his ankles were wire-bound to his bed, keeping him on his knees and propped on his elbows, his disgusting, naked ass reared up. His face was very red, and Dominica feared the man would have a heart attack before she really started having fun. They were at his house, a fetid and very dark place, corroded by infiltration at various points. It was where he practiced most of his crimes, so it was a place farther from the city. Good. He could scream as much as he wanted and they wouldn't be disturbed. She knew that no one would come looking for him. He was an outcast. A nobody. The problem is that, sometimes, this nobody may become everything in someone’s life, like a mother of one of the victims, for example.

“I will start my work. And don't you dare to faint before the best part. I want you wide awake to go through all of this, like a good boy. Are we understood?” She loved the French language. The words slid easily across her tongue, matching the tone of her voice perfectly. “I'm wondering if I let you scream as much as you want, knowing that no one will listen to you, or if I cover your disgusting mouth so I can listen to my music in peace.”

She thought for a few seconds, the forefinger stroking her chin in a theatrical way.

“Well... You are a special case, Monsieur Lefebvre. Thirty-six children, plus five young teenagers. You didn't think you were going to get caught, did you? You thought you committed perfect crimes. You were unlucky enough to fall on my radar, I suppose. You see... I’m the perfect executioner.” Dominica said while running her thumb on the sharp end of the scalpel, testing the blade. “I think I’ll allow you to scream. It will do a lot of good to my ego.”

“Please, don’t do this!” He begged, making Dominica roll her eyes and grimace. Only then his face changed, and she could see his empty orbs fill with hatred. “You bitch. Wait until I get out of here. I’ll fuck your corpse!”

Dominica burst out laughing, leaning on the bed where he was being held. She turned the scalpel in her hand, a predatory aura changing her features. Her pupils dilated to the extreme, leaving her eyes as black as the night. Her lips retracted over her white teeth in a smile full of macabre joy.

“There you are. Took you long enough, I was getting tired of so much whining.” Dominica rolled up the sleeves of the lab coat she was wearing, putting on her black rubber gloves. She didn't want to get her hands dirty with that pig's blood. “Now we can start the real fun, can't we, pig? I want to hear you scream. Scream like those mothers who were forced to see the remains of their children in a poorly digged ditch. Beg me to stop, as those innocent boys begged. Do that and, maybe, I will decide to let you live.”

Lefebvre opened his mouth once, then closed it again. This happened one more time, until he finally started to talk, a soft cry echoing deep in his throat.

“Please…” He asked without looking at her, his eyes staring at the floor.

“Please? Please what?” She instigated, her teeth clenched and her voice filled with the hatred she felt from that waste of human being.

Lefebvre wet his lips before trying to speak again. His throat was dry. He still wasn't looking at her, his eyes still facing the floor. Dominica waited patiently, debauchery beginning to show on her face.

“It’s not so easy when you have already shown your essence, right?” She asked when she realized he had no intention of speaking anymore. “Having to subjugate yourself, when the essence of your work is doing this to others. Put yourself in a different position than you're used to. In your little world, you are a God, aren't you?”

“Go to hell.” He replied, spitting on the ground, almost hitting Dominica's feet. Ah, if it had. She would pull out his salivary glands with a nail clipper.

She laughed lightly, picking up a rusty fireplace poker from the floor, rocking it to measure its weight.

“We’re all going there, Lefevbre. Now, let’s see how much of a macho man you really are.” ****

#  **NOW - BALTIMORE, MARYLAND, 7:00 P.M.**

Dominica parked the rented Corvette in front of Hannibal's house, a feeling of deja vú playing in her chest for doing the same a few hours ago. She was exhausted. Would have dinner and go to bed, she needed a good night's sleep so she wouldn't be so affected by the jetlag. After all, she had a job again, and would meet the Will Graham everyone’s been babbling about. She bit her lower lip a little hard. She was curious. Frantic, even. After sitting for a few seconds considering the events of that day that had passed so quickly, she finally got out of the car, stopping in front of the big wooden door. Should she knock or just come in? If it were earlier times, back when she lived with him, she would have entered without ceremony. But it was different circumstances now, wasn't it?

She rolled her eyes at her own hesitation, turning the knob and pushing the door, finally entering the house. She took off her overcoat and hung it, frowning when she heard a stir in the kitchen. Altered voices. In fact, one voice in particular, one that she knew very well. She went there in quick steps, catching the middle of the conversation.

“... Rude, Hannibal! Shockingly rude!” Alana's voice echoed on the kitchen tiles, while Hannibal just listened, like a little boy being scolded by his mother. That made Dominica hold back a laugh.

“You have every right to be upset with me. I overstepped my bounds.” He answered, and only the two of them noticed Dominica's presence. Or Alana, at least. Hannibal's predatory instincts must have already pointed it out. Alana went pale, her jaw tightening. Dominica just smiled slightly, shaking her head.

“How are you doing, Alana?” She tried, taking a few steps towards the brunette. Alana hadn't changed much in five years. Her hair was still dark, but longer, giving her a youthful and romantic look. Her very blue eyes were still electric and expressive. As always, Alana was a very appreciable sight. She instinctively took two steps backward because of Dominica's advance, frowning even more, if it was possible to frown even further after the scolding she gave at Hannibal.

“I'm just here to pick up my patient.” She spoke almost in a tone of justification, even though she knew she didn't need to justify anything to Dominica. Hannibal and her had known each other for years. She had a reason to be there at his house, reasons that did not include the redhead. And even if she had no reason it was still acceptable to go there, they were co-workers, friends even.

Dominica nodded, the smile gradually fading.

“So Abigail is your patient? Interesting.” She replied, looking quickly at Hannibal. His face remained impassive. “Now, I see the reason for the scolding.”

Alana frowned, her cheeks flushing.

“You knew she was here?” She asked in a more aggressive tone, and Dominica suppressed the urge to tell her to lower her voice, keeping her cool.

“What do you mean? I didn't know who that girl was until I got here, let alone she was your patient. As you know, I just got back.”

Alana twisted her mouth in displeasure, looking like she was trying to find something more to confront.

“Alana, you were right.” Hannibal stepped in before Dominica lost her so esteemed patience. Alana turned her attention to him, her face a little surprised, but soon taking on a tougher look.

“Often am. You’ll have to be more specific.” She replied with a frown. Dominica raised an eyebrow, a smile playing on her lips. He liked it when Alana was insolent. 

“She wasn’t ready to leave the hospital, she experienced a bit of anxiety. So I gave her a sedative.” Hannibal explained patiently, but still with a guilty tone in his voice and face. Dominica approved it internally. He was a great pretender. Much better than her.

“Sedative? What did you give her?” Alana inquired in an incredulous tone.

Hannibal smiled lightly.

“I only gave her half a valium, but she may be a little hazy.” He replied. Alana clenched her jaw, nodding slightly.

“Why don't you go to the dining room and I'll take whatever is missing? I see that some dishes are still here. It won't be any trouble, I'm going to have dinner as well.” Dominica offered, pointing to two dishes that had not yet been brought to the table.

Hannibal smiled approvingly.

“Excellent, Dominica. Thank you. Alana?” Hannibal politely pointed to the kitchen door, waiting for her to proceed to the dining room. Alana hesitated, but finally left. Hannibal exchanged cautious glances with Dominica before following her, leaving the redhead alone.

Dominica sighed, leaning on the counter. It was going to be a long dinner, and she was so tired to keep the social masks on and have to try to get back on good terms with Alana. She was expecting they would have the big conversation tomorrow, when she would be more rested. Her fingers drummed on the wood, the sound of her nails hitting the hard surface echoing in the kitchen. She waited a minute or so for the two of them to settle down at the table, and picked up the two dishes, leaving the kitchen and walking slowly to the dining room.

“ _Bon appétit_.” Dominica said in a pompous tone, placing the two plates on the table and sitting next to Abigail, avoiding the empty chair next to Alana. Hannibal took the place at the head of the table, as always the perfect host. Abigail still looked very high, it was difficult to say that it corresponded to the effect of half a valium.

Dominica helped herself in silence, abstaining from the conversation that Hannibal and Alana engaged in. As she took the first mouthful to her mouth, her palate expanded, making her close her eyes. Hannibal's food was like nothing on earth. She never had anything similar, not even having dinner at the best restaurant in Paris. She had missed it sorely in the first days of the getaway, since Hannibal insisted on cooking every single meal of the day. He taught her a few tricks over the years, but nothing she cooked could get even close to the perfection of her mentor's dishes. Cooking was simply not Dominica's calling. Her vocation was different.

“If I had known you were coming to dinner, I would’ve made your favorite.” Hannibal's voice took her out of her daze, causing her to quickly swallow her food to insert herself into the conversation. “Is it still…”

“Your Carpaccio? Definitely.” She smiled wistfully. It was wonderful even with the special ingredient he sometimes used in his most cherished recipes. “Your desserts too. I'm dying to eat your tiramisu.”

Hannibal smiled as if they were sharing an inside joke.

“I will provide the ingredients.”

Alana tried not to appreciate that intimate conversation, and realized that she had missed Dominica's familiarity. The thought only made her finish eating faster. She wanted to get out of there soon. That environment dangerously affected her sensitivity.

“Hannibal, I hate to leave so quickly, but I have to take Abigail back to the hospital.” She excused herself, rising from the table. Dominica did the same, standing up so fast she almost knocked over her chair.

“You won't leave that easily. Since you're here, we'll have that conversation.” She blurted out, crossing her arms.

“No, we won’t.” Alana insisted, mimicking her moves.

“Abigail has not finished eating yet, you are being highly indelicated.” Dominica pointed in a calm tone of someone who’s right, raising an eyebrow. “Are you really running away from me as the devil runs away from the cross? The big, fearless Alana Bloom? Hannibal, can we use your office?”

Abigail watched them both with her mouth full, her enormous blue eyes moving lazily from one to the other. Hannibal just finished eating, respecting their clash.

“Please. This is also your house, Dominica. Make yourself at home”

Alana clenched her jaw, but finally gave in.

“Be quick.” She warned.

They both excused themselves again and the brunette followed Dominica to Hannibal's elegant office, where she closed the two dark mahogany sliding doors, finally turning to Alana. The place was exactly as she remembered it, except for some furniture that had been changed, like the big table that Hannibal used to draw on, one of the armchairs and the big rug she used to lie back to read. Dominica took a deep breath, the smell of wood and books pleasing her immensely. She always liked places like this.

“Please.” She pointed to one of the armchairs, one with a dark gray lining that looked very comfortable. Alana sat down and she went to the other armchair, facing the brunette.

Dominica wet her lips, thinking about what she was going to say. Alana kept her arms crossed, trying to avoid looking at her. After a few seconds, however, she started to get impatient.

“So? I'm here, as you wanted so much.” She said, finally facing Dominica.

“I understand this ... Aversion? That I created in you.” Dominica was uncertain of the word, but she continued with her speech. “Believe me, even I created a certain animosity for myself after my departure, this followed for many months. But you know me too well to know that I wouldn't do something like this for free.”

“So what happened? What was so serious that made you leave m… Your whole life, Dominica, what was so huge that made you run away like a frightened pet?” Alana interrupted her, her eyes getting embarrassingly wet. “Because I swear I don't understand. I tried hard to understand over the first year, I thought I’d done something to you, that the problem was with me. But I couldn't. You have no idea how I felt. So disposable. As if I had no value in your life, even after our friendship and everything we had.

Dominica listened in silence to her outburst, wanting to feel some kind of emotion, empathy for the girl she had once loved ... Or thought she did, anyway. Had she really known the feeling? Did Alana have any position in her life? Because, the moment she needed to do what had to be done, she didn't hesitate to leave her. She hadn't even looked back. Damn, she was pretty sure she loved Hannibal, but she also didn't hesitate to leave him. Perhaps the problem was really her. She lacked certain devices, and she couldn't give Alana what she wanted. She never could. Not after everything she had been through before Hannibal finally found her and helped her embrace her true self, to see her full potential.

However, if she wanted everything to remain as easy for her as it used to be before she left, she would have to be in favor of everyone again, including Alana and Jack Crawford. That was the obvious to do, pure survival instinct. If she raised the slightest suspicion, it could lead to her discovery, and she would die before going to prison. Nobody was going to reap her freedom. She wouldn’t allow it.

“You can ask me anything, Lana. Anything but the reason for my escape. At the right time I’ll tell but, for now, this is expendable.” She threw the nickname in the middle of the sentence as if casually, almost as a habit, trying to arouse some feeling of affection in the brunette. “I'm back, I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. I can't ask for us to go back to how we were before, but I can ask for at least one try. A chance. I want to be on good terms with you.”

“Why?” Alana asked, her voice weak. Some tears were already wetting her pretty face. “To make me go through all of that again?”

“There won’t be an again. That, I can promise you.”

Alana pondered her words for a few seconds, standing up out of a sudden and wiping her face with her palms.

“I have to take Abigail back.”

Dominica opened her mouth to ask how they were doing, but closed it again, just nodding. She would allow Alana to have her time. She deserved it. They both left the office and went to the living room, where Hannibal and Abigail were talking about something Dominica was unable to capture. They fell silent the moment Alana and Dominica entered the room, smiling as if they were children caught in a prank.

“Abigail, can we go?” Alana called. She seemed lighter.

 _Yes_ . Dominica thought as she watched Abigail and Hannibal. _Take this little creature out of here before I use her blood as a raw material for my cosmetics_.

On her face, however, only a relaxed smile appeared.

“See you soon, Abigail. It was a pleasure to meet you.” She said falsely, watching as Alana helped her put on her coat. Alana said goodbye to Hannibal and, looking at Dominica, hesitated.

“Bye.” She said at last, leaving the house quickly. Dominica's smile disappeared the moment Hannibal closed the door, and she thanked him for it. Her cheeks hurt.

She rolled her eyes, letting her body fall on one of the sofas, massaging her temples. What a tiring day. She urgently needed a delicious hot bath and her bed, with its wonderful mattress.

“Tell me. How was it with Jack Crawford? And Alana?” Hannibal asked, going behind the sofa and placing his hands on Dominica's shoulders, his skilled fingers pressing the local tensions. Dominica closed her eyes, a sound of intense pleasure leaving her lips. A massage was just what she needed at the moment, and Hannibal made the best massages.

“Well ... I have my job back. Partially. I'll have to share it with that Will Graham, and apparently babysit him too. What reminds me;” Dominica turned on the couch, facing Hannibal and interrupting the massage. “What is your relationship with the Hobbs girl? What is she to you? Is she related to that serial killer who was killed by Graham recently? Garret Jacob Hobbs, was it? The Minnesota Shrike?

Hannibal let out a soft laugh. 

“So many questions. Are you jealous, Dominica?” He provoked, studying closely the reaction of the youngest. From the look she gave, she wasn't very happy. That made him laugh. “She's Hobbs’ daughter. And she knows that the day the FBI identified him as the prime suspect and came to her place, I gave the warning. I called there, told her father the FBI knew. She answered the phone first and recognized my voice.”

Dominica raised an eyebrow.

“Reckless. Why did you do it? Let me guess.” She rested her elbows on the back of the sofa, getting on her knees and resting her chin on her hands. “You were curious to know what would happen?”

Hannibal smirked, stroking Dominica's cheek with his thumb. The redhead took his hand in hers, caressing it and placing a kiss on his palm.

“I'd forgotten how well you know me.” He said in a bittersweet tone. The redhead shrugged, feeling very convinced, and asked him to continue the story. He updated her as much as he could on what had happened in the past few days with Abigail, Will Graham and Jack Crawford, without leaving any events out. It was what she needed.

“How should I act when I meet Graham? What should I know, how should I behave? You seem to have a good knowledge about him.” Dominica pointed, and Hannibal's eyes sparkled slightly. “Should I create a situation that will work on my favor?”

“As a matter of fact, I have the perfect situation.” He replied, his canny eyes still sparkling. 

#  **FBI ACADEMY, QUANTICO, VIRGINIA, 10:00 A.M.**

Dominica settled on one of the last benches in the classroom that Will Graham teached at Quantico, resting her chin on her hands and her elbows on the table. It was a very large classroom, with a long black board and several benches that went up in steps, in the shape of an auditorium. She had been one of the first to arrive, very curious. What would he look like? She wanted to be surprised, so she hadn't researched anything about him. She had Hannibal's reports and the few she caught during conversations with Jack Crawford and Beverly Katz. The rest would be on her own. She wore a dark blouse to try to blend in with the students who were starting to arrive, the uniform being basically a very dark black blouse and beige pants. Her ginger hair was tied up in a very high ponytail, ending in a few curls at the ends. She wanted to highlight her face. He was a man, wasn't he? And she was, modestly speaking, very beautiful. She’d always known how to use her beauty to her advantage. If it didn't work with him, well, at least she was highly presentable.

She was already beginning to find it monotonous when, at ten o'clock sharp, a man without the dull uniform entered the room. Finally. She took a good look at him, absorbing every bit of his face, his mannerisms, his body language. He was busy organizing his table, so he didn’t notice. Average height, acceptable for a man, at least by her standards. He probably had about the same height as Hannibal. His hair was dark and wavy, a little messy, as if he hadn't bothered to comb it in the morning. He wore glasses, a frame that was something between square and oval. His beard was short. With his glasses on, she couldn't see the color of his eyes from so far away. He kept his eyes down, and when he raised them he didn't usually focus them anywhere, distributing his vision around the room. His jaw was defined, his nose was sharp. He dressed properly, but she could see that he had a very basic and even generic taste for clothes. He didn't seem to wear anything exceptional, probably bought in department stores. He wore a worn dark gray jacket, a green plaid shirt underneath, and beige pants in a darker tone as well. He had an athletic physique, not from someone who worked out, but from someone who didn't stand still either. His hands were large, with long fingers, a very masculine hand.

Dominica leaned over the table, trying to see his shoes. Ordinaries, like the rest of his clothes. There was nothing visually about Graham's persona that would highlight him, that would put him in focus. She didn't know if she found that depressing or genious. In the situations they faced, it was best to remain anonymous. He turned on the projector, showing an image that looked familiar to Dominica.

When she realized what would be the topic of the lesson, she had to contain a loud laugh.

_The Punisher Of Annandale._

That was her. It was her stage name.

What were the odds? The coincidence? That was enough to make her straighten up in her chair, her spine straight and her hands together resting on the table. Due to the low number of female serial killers and the brutality of the M.O, it was stipulated that the punisher would be a man. Dominica took it as an inside joke. The day that sexism had made it easier for her to stay out of the radar, out of the system. For "scholars", most women — with few exceptions, like Aileen Wuornos, who was mistakenly credited as the first female serial killer in the US — kept her M.O based on poisoning. Poisoning was not enough for Dominica; facing the pigs she chose to slaughter, poisoning was too merciful. A small moment of despair followed by torpor was not enough to purge the pain of the victims who suffered at the hands of their executioners. Many of them were just children.

Will Graham started the class, and his voice was neither deep nor soft, but it was full-bodied, and he spoke each word singularly, his diction was good. His voice tone wasn’t loud, but he spoke well, despite having clear problems with staring at someone. His eyes moved around the room, never focusing on a specific spot for long. He started a quick introduction about the victims of the _Punisher of Annandale_ , and Dominica really decided to pay attention to see the information he had about her.

“His victims are all male, between the ages of 21 and 60, with a criminal record of rape, or attempted rape. The first victim;” He pressed the control on the projector, and a photo of one of Dominica's victims appeared on the projection screen. She smiled slightly. She had a lot of fun with him. He was her first. And a girl never forgets her first. “Noel Stuart Garrickson. 56 years old. He was found in his own home by the owner of the property, who came to collect the rent after five days of the crime. He was strapped to his couch, immobilized to remain on his stomach and with his hip resting on the back of the furniture. Completely nude. His body showed cuts made by a very sharp instrument, some nails pulled out, one of the fingers showed the bone up to the middle of the proximal. Teeth were pulled out. Some cuts showed that skin had been removed, too. In the rectum, a crowbar had been introduced with such force that it was the cause of death by impalement. His genitalia was hanging by a blue ribbon on the fireplace. And this proved to be his pattern, his Modus Operandi ... His design. Torture, castration and impalement. The tortures varied, but these three were the pillars of his actions that became his trademark.”

The boy next to Dominica swallowed so loudly that she looked at him quickly, turning her attention back to Graham. He continued to dictate a few more victims, six in total. _The Punisher of Annandale_ had eleven known victims. Dominica, on the other hand, had twenty-three, which accounted for twelve strangers who had perished at her hands, and for good reason.

Finally, class ended, and she waited for the mass of trainees from the academy to leave the room. Only then, calmly, she made her way to Will Graham's table, where he organized his things. On the projection screen, there was still a photo of one of her victims. For a mere second, she imagined giving lectures on how she had eliminated scum from society, and how it had positively affected the world. Everyone wanted to know who she was, her motivations, everyone admired her without moralistic hypocrisy. She knew that many people secretly approved her actions, and kept those thoughts to themselves for fear of being judged. There would be no judgement with her. It was the right thing to do.

She shook that thought from her head before approaching Graham, stopping in front of his desk. She waited to see his reaction to seeing her, and he only directed his eyes to her face once, then lowering them. His brows furrowed.

“Can I help you?” He asked in a suspicious tone that made her smile slightly. His eyes were a dark shade of blue-green, and he smelled of cheap aftershave, wood, and an extra scent, something humid…

Dominica's eyes scanned his clothes, finding the answer to that scent. Fur of different colors and sizes. Pets, probably dogs. That was the smell, after all; dogs.

“Interesting topic for the class. But I cannot understand what would lead a man to have one method this degrading to another. What are your views on this? Serial Killers tend to hunt the opposite genre. Would you say that he is a homosexual, Professor Graham?” She studied his face and body language as he listened to the question. He looked at her again, adjusting his glasses. Dominica realized that he was studying her too.

“Do I know you?” He sounded a little annoyed, crossing his arms “You’re not friends with Freddie Lounds, are you? I'm sure the Tattler would enjoy Will Graham's exclusive controversial view of the _Punisher of Annandale_.

“Hell no, I don't even read that crap.” That was a big bullshit, Dominica did read the Tattler, and she had all the reports about the _Punisher of Annandale_ stored in a portrait album that she used to keep in her safe. And actually, it had been the Tattler itself and Freddie Lounds who created the name _Punisher Of Annandale_ , the FBI would never allow a name that would somehow classify what she did as fair. But the press was the press, and in just a few weeks, the name had become definitive in the mouth of thousands of Americans. She held out her hand. “Dominica Bellucci. I used to work for Jack Crawford at the Behavioral Science Unit.”

 _Give me back my job, you bastard_ , she added mentally. Graham hesitated, but finally shook her hand, recognition lighting his face.

“I believe I've heard of you. The missing psychiatrist.”

“And I of you, Will Graham. I recently read about the Garrett Jacob Hobbs case. The way you found him was brilliant, but I'm sorry you had to take him down. It's never easy.”

He kept his eyes on his things, finishing putting them away and avoiding looking at her, but Dominica could see on his face that her words affected him emotionally. He didn't seem to be very used to receiving attention, information that she would keep for the future.

“Did Jack send you?” He asked a little more harshly, lifting his head. “I already discourse a lot with Dr. Lecter, I don't need someone else analyzing me to make a profile.”

Dominica feigned surprise, as if the comment had startled her. In fact, it made her a little bit annoyed. How insolent!

“No, that’s not the reason I’m here.” She spoke quickly, almost reassuring him. He seemed a little confused. “If you heard about me, then you must know that the position you fill now used to be mine five years ago. I had to leave for personal reasons, but now that I’m back, I intend to return to active duty. Jack allowed me to be reinstated to the team on the condition that I share the position with you, after all two heads are better than one, and so we could share the workload as well. Also, if you _really_ heard of me, you know that I also have ... A way, speaking with euphemism, in finding criminals. If sharing the work will allow me to put this gift into practice, that's fine by me.”

She cheered herself internally. What a wonderful actress she was. He had managed to fully convey the image of the idealistic young man she wanted to. Graham clenched his jaw, still avoiding to look at her, but when he was about to open his mouth to answer, Jack Crawford came into the classroom, stopping when he saw them.

“So you two have already met? Great. I need you to come with me. We found a body.”


	3. Caccia E Prede

## DOMINICA

#  **FLORENCE, THREE AND A HALF YEARS AGO**

Dominica had never planned to return to her hometown.

Whenever she traveled with Hannibal, even if they went to Italy, she purposely avoided Florence. She didn’t like the horde of memories that the place brought her, it made her sick to think about the beginning of her life. However, she was there for a purpose. She needed to strengthen her emotional after all that she’d been through, she was in pieces and, at times, she feared she would not be able to make herself whole again. And what better place for her to do that? Regardless of what she’d been through in her childhood and part of her teenage years, she had risen. She needed to be there to prove that she could do it again. Reborn from the ashes, like a phoenix.

She watched from afar the courtyard of a Catholic orphanage, a nun kneeling talking to a child. A girl with dark blond hair, straight and shoulder-length, round eyes. She was holding a teddy bear with one arm, and busied herself with biting the knuckle of her free finger, while looking at the nun with a carefree expression. Her eyes were bright, canny, and she wore a beautiful crimson dress, along with little white shoes. Dominica finished drinking her coffee, leaving the money on the table and slowly getting up, picking up her purse and gradually moving away from the scene. She could see the _Duomo_ in the distance, popular name of the Cathedral of _Santa Maria del Fiore_ , which received thousands of tourists a year. For a moment, Dominica wished to be just that: a tourist. Someone who was seeing the city for the first time and who had no connection to it but, unfortunately, that was far from being true.

Her feet masterfully guided her to the neighborhood of _Porta Al Prato_ , where she used to live. The narrow streets began to give her a feeling of claustrophobia the closer she got to the small two-story building. Her parents used to rent the second floor to earn extra income. That was how she met Hannibal. She turned another street, and finally reached the small building. The orange color that she hated so much was faded by the lack of care, in some places the wall had peeled off, showing part of the bricks. Some windows were broken, and the rest that wasn’t had the glass so dirty that she couldn't see much through it. Dominica strode to the door, touching the frayed wood with a pale, sweaty hand. She picked it up immediately with the sensation of being electrocuted, closing her eyes briefly. She needed to be calm. Concentrate. There was nothing else that could hurt her there, at least not physically. The memories still condensed there.

She picked up her bag, taking the key to the place. The forbidden key. The key that, when not intended to be used, was left untouched at the bottom of a drawer. Forgotten. Almost unconscious, as if it didn't exist. But whenever she needed to use it, Dominica knew exactly where to find it. She turned the key in the lock, having a little difficulty due to lack of use, the metal jamming a little. Finally, she heard a click and turned the handle, the door opening with a loud cracking sound. Everything was dark, and Dominica's legs were starting to go as soft as gelatin. She had to lean against the wall, taking a deep breath. Her hand touched the wall for a few seconds, and she flipped the switch. One of the lamps blinked but didn’t light. The other one showed a weak light, making her roll her eyes. She closed the door behind her carefully, for some reason didn't meaning to make any noise. The smell of old and guarded stuff turned her stomach and made her nose itch. She rubbed it absentmindedly with the back of her hand, her eyes moving quickly around the house and recording what she needed to know most: she was alone.

A strangled sound escaped her throat, and she abruptly covered her lips, her eyes filling with tears. Her breathing started to accelerate, and she paced the house again. If she closed her eyes, she could almost feel the atmosphere of the latest events before she finally left that place. Before Hannibal saved her. It was like electricity. Shivers went down her spine, static sounded like a whip in her ears. Or was it just the beat of her pulse? She couldn't say. She headed down the hall, stopping in front of the room that used to be hers. Dominica slowly pushed the door with her boot, and it creaked loudly, hitting the wall lightly.

The room was the same as she’d left it the last time. She scanned the damage she’d caused in the last crisis, a broken chair, a torn pillow and feathers accumulated on the floor. The curtain was also torn, half of it still hung weakly and the other half laid with the feathers. Dominica walked like a lynx stalking its prey, her eyes half closed, her fingers slightly arched at her side. Those stiletto nails could do great damage. She was so tingled that even her hair was fuller than normal, making her look like a very big orange cat. Her pupils were dilated, her lips slightly drawn. She was the perfect portrait of a predator. Anger ran through her veins along with adrenaline as the memories rushed through her mind. She could see her seven year old self sitting on the bed, her head down, her face wet with tears of pain, fear and shame. These feelings, over the years, gradually turned into hatred. A pure and dangerous hatred, which made her insides burn as if she were on fire.

Dominica held her body protectively, as if it would block out all the bad feelings and memories of penetrating her. But she knew it wouldn't do any good. She sat on the bed, the mattress creaking slightly with her weight and a small cloud of dust rising. She wasn't going to break anything today, that wasn't the point of being there. She was there to restructure herself. To regain her coolness and ability to work under pressure. She relaxed her hands in her lap and let the memories invade her without the intention of blocking them. Images took her mind uncoordinated, many troubled moments from her childhood were lived in that house, in that room. She closed her eyes, squeezing them so tightly that they started to hurt, and then swore. She hated being there. She hated feeling vulnerable. Actually, she hated feelings in general. It was so much easier to put on a shell, when she did her job. She didn't have to worry if someone was watching her, if someone could see beyond.

She was a broken doll, a doll with missing and defective parts that could not be fixed. Her chaotic childhood had guaranteed that. It was like a curse; she hadn’t taken pleasure in simple tasks like drinking a glass of cold water in very hot times for years, or enjoying a good meal like the ones Hannibal used to cook for her, or even in situations that involved more complex feelings like sex, social relationships. She was tired of Alana, tired of Jack Crawford, of saving lives, tired of everything. She saw no reason to continue to postpone her miserable existence, and when she reached that state, it was difficult to know how she would react to certain things. She’d learned to protect herself. To give herself some time to recharge her batteries. At that time, however, the blow had been more serious. The reason she’d fled Hannibal and ignored every cell in her body that tried to force her to stay had demanded more than she could give. That's why she was there. To make sure she wouldn't lose her head and let the feelings get hold of her again.

Approximately an hour later, Dominica left the place, locking the door. Her eyes were static and opaque like a shark's, her features unintelligible. She’d achieved her goal. A new shell had formed around her, her feelings, desires and needs had been put on second place. She would go on with the life she’d created in France, at least as far as she could still enjoy it. Then she would go on her way. Surviving was what she did best, her gift. And she would do it again.

#  **NOW - LORTON, VIRGINIA, 12:04 P.M.**

Dominica got out of the car she’d rented, remembering it was supposed to be delivered later that afternoon. She was going to get a new car as soon as possible, after all, she didn't want to depend on Hannibal for anything. Her unsolicited presence was already uncomfortable enough. Dominica watched FBI police cars and vans as she walked lightly to Jack Crawford, who was already with Will Graham. She observed him again as she reached them. He had no dominance in his posture, behaving like a cornered animal. He’d taken off the worn jacket he was wearing, leaving only the green plaid shirt on. He exchanged glances with her quickly, clenching his jaw. Would that mean he wasn’t satisfied with her presence? Dominica smiled slightly at the thought. Too bad. He should’ve known better than to steal her job.

“What do we have for today?” She asked in a calculatingly unsure tone, hugging her own body. She felt Will Graham's eyes on her, but she was looking at Jack Crawford.

“Martha Weston. Twenty-seven years old. Her boyfriend, Elliott Mosby, found the body and immediately called the police. Get in there and see what you can tell me. She is in the kitchen.” He indicated the door with a nod of his head in a mysterious tone, making Dominica roll her eyes mentally. She stepped forward, walking to the open white wooden door, crossing the portal with Graham behind her. She stopped to see if there were any signs of a break-in. Nothing.

“How do you want to proceed with this?” He asked softly, but she felt a bit of irony. Her eyes immediately turned to him, and when he realized she was looking at him, he averted hers.

“You stay out of my way, and I will cordially do the same. How about that?” She spoke in the same mild and slightly ironic tone as she walked slowly into the living room. She could see that a small sided smile broke out on his lips, but she didn’t comment on it, being already immersed in the atmosphere of crime in the surroundings of that house. 

He was also unwilling to answer because, at that moment, the two of them entered the kitchen.

The place was a disaster. One of the table chairs laid broken in the corner, one foot had been torn off. Dominica looked for it, finding the object near the counter. It was stained with blood until almost half of it. She clenched her jaw. Martha Weston was sitting at the table, completely naked, her body erected by a piece of string that tied her to the back of the chair, probably pulled from the toaster that was shattered on the floor. The table was set. On the plate, her heart. Her face had frozen in an expression of horror. Dominica approached the table, and at that moment, someone gave her rubber gloves. Beverly. She hadn't noticed her presence.

“Hey, Bev. Thanks.” She pulled on her gloves, turning Martha's palm up. Marks of her nails. The heart had been removed with her alive.

She then went on “ _autopilot_ ”, a nickname that Beverly herself had given, when she fully immersed herself in the crime scene. Her eyes remained open, blinking very few times. Her pupils were fully dilated, making the blue of her eyes almost disappear. She stood still, straight, like a cat stalking a prey, walking only when she needed to get a wider view or look for more evidence.

She looked at the fridge. Some magnets were on the floor, along with torn photos. She could distinguish a smiling Martha in one half, the other part, with a man, was torned apart. The boyfriend, probably. There was no ring or any indication that there was one on the corpse's fingers. The way the photographs had been torn and crushed, only those of the girl with her boyfriend, indicated that it had been passionate.

“No sign of break-in on any of the other doors or windows?” Dominica asked one of the experts she liked the least in her time. She’d forgotten his name. The cheeky black-haired. He shook his head, and it was all the social contact she needed. He said something else and she didn’t listen, focusing on the scene again. No break-in. Either the attacker had the key, or... Or Martha let him in.

She distracted herself for a moment when she realized that Graham had gone to a secluded corner. His eyes were closed and he was completely silent. She shrugged, ignoring him again. She had more important things to deal with. Her mind returned to aligning with the case and her eyes traveled the through the clues in the kitchen. She was starting to put the pieces together and have a vague idea of what happened. At that moment, Jack Crawford came into the kitchen, facing her.

“So?” He asked her, as Will Graham still remained with his eyes closed. “What can you tell me?”

Dominica considered what she was going to say, her lips coming together in a pensive pout. It was a habit she had since she was a child and which she had never been able to abolish.

“If we had to define a word for this crime, it would certainly be covet. And what do we start to covet, Jack?” She asked in a distracted voice tone while still looking at the evidences.

“What we see everyday.” It wasn’t Jack who answered, however. Will Graham had opened his eyes and was looking at her in surprise. Or as much as he could show on his expressionless face. Dominica smiled slightly, nodding.

“Good to see we’re on the same page, Mr. Graham.” She pointed out, turning to face Jack. “She knew him somehow. He saw her regularly. Maybe it's a helper, or a mechanic, although not very likely, I don't see anything that has been fixed recently and I think it's something more frequent.”

“What does the heart means?” Jack pointed to the table. Will Graham said nothing, just watched her. Dominica knew she was being tested, and that annoyed her a little. Who did he think he was?

“Give me your heart and I will give you mine ... She broke his heart.” She pointed to the torn photos. “Now he broke hers. Unfortunately in a literal form. He somehow thinks it's reciprocal, Jack. Always. He's someone who can't get ahead with relationships, some mental handicap that he thinks can't be fixed. I think he is sexually impotent, too. More than that, he used the chair leg to mark her in some way. As his. He's killed before, but I don't think he always does it this way. This time, he chose poorly. He didn't know she had a boyfriend. See how everything was done in a hurry, the mess, the irregularity of the cut? It’s someone who has no surgical experience, a layman. I think we should take a look at cases of rape at home followed by unsolved murders, with an emphasis on the lack of break-in. They'll probably all be like her, long blond hair, brown eyes, not too tall.”

Jack nodded, turning to Will Graham, who remained silent.

“Will? Something to add?” He asked, raising an eyebrow in amazement at the man's silence. Graham hesitated, but at last he shrugged and shook his head, making Jack look astonished for a few seconds.

Jack then agreed and left the crime scene, probably beginning to arrange the measures she suggested and to start the investigation. Dominica turned to the corpse, trying to keep her expression as neutral as possible. Inside, however, he was extremely angry at the guy who had put that girl through it. She regretted not being able to bring his justice to her, as she was in the sights of the FBI, and with Will Graham watching her, it would be stupid to expose herself that way. She would have to use the justice of the people and walk legally, unfortunately. But for now. The day she would return to acting in the field of her own justice would come.

“ _Mi dispiace, ragazza.”_ She whispered before she could stop herself. Feeling sorry wouldn't help, though. She would find out who had given her that terrible fate.

The scent of Graham's cheap aftershave invaded her nostrils and she felt his presence behind her.

“Do you always get involved like this?” He asked, measuring her with his dark blue eyes. She pondered what to say a little, thinking she believed her expression was impassive. Damn, he was good.

“Don’t you?” She finally replied, crossing her arms. “You speak italian?”

Will Graham smiled at the corner of his lips and she realized that he probably didn't do that often. Smile. It seemed mechanical and somewhat inappropriate, as if he didn't allow himself. It was a sad smile, though.

“More like the tone of voice you used, maybe. Like a nightingale that sings its last tune.”

“That’s quite specific. And deeply melancholy. Appropriate for the moment, I believe…” She spoke in a distracted tone while still contemplating what she could see of the clues she found. “So ... You were vague with Jack, but I want to know what you think about the case.”

Will Graham avoided looking at her, unsure of what to say. She had reached the exact same point as him on the board, neither too much nor too little, she’d seen as he saw it. It puzzled him, but he didn't let her know.

“You were very perceptive.” It was all he said for a moment, and Dominica's intuition told her to respect that momentary silence. She then continued to stare at him with her feline eyes, until at last she let out a light nasal laugh. “I imagine it was a big embezzlement on Jack's team when you left.”

Dominica evaluated his words, the real intentions behind them gradually showing. The two walked out of the house through the kitchen door, the suffocating atmosphere dissipating completely in the cold wind. Like her, he also respected her silence. She enjoyed that.

“Hardly. He had many competent people with him. Jack has always been lucky with that.” She knew it wasn't the same. Someone with a mind as analytical as hers, especially with its deductive capacity, was rare to find. She liked to imagine himself as a Sherlock Holmes in the modern world. But obviously she wouldn't say that to him. In fact, she wouldn't comment much on that. She liked to maintain the aura of mystery about her.

“I never got as close as you did, though. I was truly just consulted. The closest I came to the criminals was through the bars of _Baltimore State Hospital for The Criminally Insane_. Alana insisted on that... Always protective.”

“Alana? Alana Bloom?” He asked in a surprised tone as the two of them stopped beside the car Dominica rented. She nodded, avoiding looking at him.

“That’s her. We went to college together.” The redhead smiled briefly, avoiding deepening the subject. She already had said too much about herself.

“If you are so close to her, then you must know Dr. Hannibal Lecter.”

Dominica couldn't help but laugh, covering her lips politely.

“I thought you said you’ve heard about me, Mr. Graham.”

“It's Will. Just... Will.” He corrected disconcertingly as he pushed his glasses up, annoyed by the mocking tone of her voice. Suddenly, he felt very stupid.

“Hannibal comes long before Alana. I've known him like forever. He's like an older brother to me.” She spoke, controlling the almost robotic tone that came into her voice when she said that sentence. She’d said it so many times to so many people that it automatically came out of her lips when someone questioned her relationship with Hannibal. She thought about how much the words " _he is like a big brother to me_ " sounded absurdly inappropriate in the context she lived in, especially before she left.

“In fact, I should’ve met him for lunch, but Jack called us. I left a message and he promised to leave some leftovers for when I get home.” 

With those few words, she showed how cordial her relationship with Hannibal was. That was how she liked to show it, as something healthy, polished and lasting, calm as the waters of a lake. It was best for both of them, and besides, there were certain chests that should always remain closed.

“The autopsy will be around later this afternoon.” Beverly's voice attracted their attention, and Dominica almost laughed at her co-worker's excitement. “Glad you already met and seem to be getting along. I'm very proud, Dominica.”

“That’s called adulthood.” Dominica joked, giving Beverly a little push. “I reckon you made a bet with Jimmy and the other guy that I always forget the name that we wouldn't get along. That's just like you.”

“Hey, I bet in your favor!” Beverly pushed her back, making her smile. Why couldn't Alana be like Beverly? She didn’t ask for satisfaction, didn’t hate her for the fled, and treated her as she always had. Why couldn't Alana be as uncomplicated as she was? “And don't tell Brian that you haven't memorized his name yet, it will hurt his feelings.”

“More like his ego.” Dominica pouted cryingly in irony as Beverly walked away. The colleague laughed, turning her back on her and going on her way.

A slightly awkward air hung between her and Will Graham. She was totally outgoing and enjoyed making fun of people, while he was totally introspective and did not feel comfortable expressing many emotions, as far as she could tell so far. Even after five years away, she didn't hesitate to play with Beverly or tease Jack in any way she could, as if she had never left. Dominica was rarely embarrassed. It helped to create her interesting, humorous and outgoing persona that she showed to the world. She loved Hannibal, but she always thought he showed himself too cold for the world, almost on an unreachable pedestal. Nobody was suspicious of those who showed many emotions, even if most of them were false. And Hannibal had grown up in the nobility, being extremely polite and courteous as a real gentleman should be. That didn't work for Dominica. She was too agitated and untamed to always be perfectly dressed, with wonderful manners and very demure. And there was the fact that she wasn’t born into the nobility, too. Her life situation had always been oscillating, she had already starved, she had moments of abundance, even though she had never been really rich with her parents. 

After she joined Hannibal, however, it was completely different. She had begun to consume the good and the best, and he had taught her to be polite and behave, and many other things that had made her the perfect predator she was today. Without him, she would’ve never survived. Without him, she would be somewhere horrible and precarious, or even in prison. He taught her to transit between high society, to dress like them, to speak like them, to appreciate what they appreciated. It had proved useful on several occasions in her life, including and especially in her time on the run. She was a dirty mare when he found her, and God knew it had taken him a long time to start taming her, even though he knew in his heart that he would never quite succeed. He taught her to be seductive, but not vulgar, to use her looks to her advantage in an intelligent and not exaggerated way. Like a geisha. He taught her to defend herself when she needed to, to be smart, perceptive, as Graham had put it moments ago.

She owed Hannibal her life. And she would do anything he asked without question. It was how grateful she was to him.

#  **BALTIMORE, MARYLAND, 5:21 P.M.**

Dominica opened the door to Hannibal's house with the extra key he had given her the day before. She didn't expect to see him at that hour, he must have been attending in his office, which was not far from there. However, when hanging up her coat, he appeared in the living room while fixing his cufflinks.

“I thought you were already in the office.” Dominica smiled slightly at him. “I'm sorry I didn't show up for lunch. It was truly unexpected.”

“When Jack calls, there is no way to say no. Especially now that you're hoping to make a good impression.” He replied in a carefree tone. “And the five o'clock patient canceled. I have one at six, and seven-thirty, which will be Will.”

Dominica stopped everything she was doing, her eyes fixed on Hannibal with an air of mischief. He couldn't help but remember the girl when she was a teenager. It made him smile briefly.

“Can I watch?” She asked in a tone that seemed to refer to something forbidden, as if she was not referring to the appointment.

Hannibal looked at her as if scolding her, but the redhead saw the amusement in his eyes.

“You're from the field, so you know the concept of psychiatrist-patient secrecy, Dominica. I'm afraid I can't make an exception, even when it comes to you.” He replied, making her pout capriciously.

“ _Et tu, Brute_?” She dramatized while pretending to fall on the nearest sofa, sighing when she realized that she had enjoyed the softness of the upholstery too much. She hadn't realized how tired she was.

He sat beside her, making her straighten up to make room for him.

“It’s been a long day so far. Rest, Dominica. When you wake up, I prepared something for your dinner. It's in a platter on the oven. I'll be home around nine. You don't have to wait for me.” He stroked the redhead's chin with his thumb affectionately as he spoke, passing the tip of his index finger lightly over her nose, causing Dominica to laugh sleepily. “Will you need a ride to Quantico tomorrow?”

“I took care of that. The black Harley Davidson parked outside is mine.” Dominica replied, her eyes heavy.

The last thing she heard before they closed completely was Hannibal's melodious voice saying something about caution.


	4. Controllo

##  DOMINICA

#  **COPENHAGEN, DENMARK, ABOUT TWELVE YEARS AGO**

Dominica rested her chin on her hands and her elbows on the marble counter in the beautiful kitchen, her head dangling dangerously to one side. Her eyes blinked for a long time, she felt exhausted. The nightmares were hitting her hard that specific month, even though it's been a long time since the events that haunted her in her turbulent dreams.

Firm hands touched her shoulders, pressing at strategic points for her to relax. Dominica let out a slight moan of pleasure, albeit tired, as she laid her body back and leaned against the chest of one of the people she most cherished.

“Nightmares again?” Hannibal Lecter asked, making her nod lazily. He caressed the top of her head and walked away, going to the pantry while still talking. “ I know these are painful memories, but you can't avoid sleeping, Dominica. Restful sleep is always necessary.”

“I'm not avoiding it. I'm just not getting enough sleep. It takes me a long time to fall asleep ... But I'm not actively avoiding it.” She lied, knowing at once that Hannibal would be able to read her. “Ah, shit. Fine. It's just ... It's easier to avoid sleeping than spending the night awake, impressed by the images in my head. At least I stay productive. But I’ve tried. I sleep a maximum of two hours a night.”

While she spoke, Hannibal didn’t stop, moving easily around the kitchen. They had been on vacation in that house for a few days, but he found it easy to move around, almost like a dancer on stage. He prepared tea for both of them. Dominica could not identify, the smell was like wet soil, roots.

“There is no productivity in a tired mind. I don't need to tell you this, you know very well.” He teased while placing a beautiful china-adorned cup in front of her. “Drink. You’ll feel better.”

Dominica took advantage of the fact that he had turned his back to take another cup and sniffed the aroma of the tea, trying to identify it. She didn't want to be rude, but the smell made her sick. She wrinkled her nose, but took the cup in her hands, hesitating before bringing it to her lips.

“What tea is this?” She waited for him to answer, but he just smiled, facing her and waiting for her to drink. She knew it was a test. Did she trust him enough to drink something suspicious?

She raised an eyebrow, finally bringing the cup to her lips and taking a long sip. It was bitter, very bitter. She closed her eyes at the taste and boil of the drink, keeping them closed as she felt the tea burn down her throat. She swore under her breath, feeling that she burned the tip of her tongue.

Hannibal remained silent and she took another sip, this time blowing on the drink before bringing it to her lips. The cup was now half full. Only then she realized he hadn't touched his own. Dominica raised an eyebrow, an uneasiness making her hands start to sweat.

“Hanni… What tea is this?” She asked again, now putting the cup down fully, placing it back on the saucer and rubbing her hands on the sweatpants she wore.

“Don’t you trust me, Dominica?” 

“If I didn't, I wouldn't have even taken the first sip. But I can't help noticing that you haven't even touched your cup. Why would you give me something that you would avoid consuming?” Dominica's eyes traveled through the kitchen, looking for evidence of what she had been drinking. He purposely hid the infuser with the body.

“Psilocybin.”

The redhead widened her eyes, looking back at the cup.

“You gave me mushroom’s tea? Without my consent? Hannibal …”

“Psychological trauma is the affliction of the weak, Dominica. I can help you reverse this by making positive associations to your traumatic memories. Psilocybin will help, you know the effects of it. I can be your guide on this journey. Will you allow me?” Hannibal took her face, wrapping his hands around it so gently that Dominica relaxed in that touch. He was the only man she allowed to touch her that way, freely, without her repelling or reacting rudely.

Dominica took a deep breath, trying to contain her unease. She had been irritated at first for not being told what she was drinking. She didn't like being treated like a child, and that's how she felt. But, after Hannibal's words, she understood that it was for her good. He wanted to help her.

“Do you trust me, Dominica?” He asked again, extending his hand to her. The redhead sighed but finally smiled, taking the older man's hand.

“Always, Hannibal.”

#  **BALTIMORE, MARYLAND, 6:42 P.M.**

A hard blow to Dominica's back caused her to wake up abruptly, moaning in pain as she tried to understand what was going on.

She was in Baltimore, Maryland. Hannibal's house. On the floor, being more specific. She felt the soft fabric of the Persian rug beneath her, and it wasn’t long before she understood what had happened. She was having a nightmare, a particularly nasty one. She rubbed a hand over her face, feeling it soaked with beads of sweat. A bath was needed to restore her energy, and restful sleep afterwards.

She rose from the floor, stretching her curvy body, eyes closed as she heard several bones in her body crack. Her hair formed an orange cloud around her head, tousled and with messed locks. She looked at her watch, sighing. It was still early. She would take a shower and study today’s case.

That's when she found herself wondering, curiosity nibbling at her brain like a pleasant itch. What would Will Graham have to say at today's session with Hannibal? What did they talk about? Could Hannibal get him to open up?

No, no. Hannibal had already endorsed against it. And she herself knew the term of confidentiality between the patient and the psychiatrist, she was one, after all. It wasn't fair to Graham. But then again... He wasn't officially his pacient, was he? She sighed loudly, walking slowly to her suite. She was faced with an important choice: bathtub or shower? That would depend on your goals that night. She nibbled on her lower lip, her impulsiveness reaching dangerous levels. Damn, Dominica really wanted to know what they were going to talk about in that session.

Before her rationality could intervene, she went to the shower, letting the water wash away all of her sweat. She rubbed herself as much as she could so that no odor would emanate from her, as she knew Hannibal would feel it right away. He didn't use soap, of course. That was not his bathroom, if she used anything other than what he used at the time, it would be discovered. She knew that he always took a break before each session, and that would be her cue to enter the building without being discovered. Her mind worked fast. She remembered that Hannibal's office had two doors in different rooms, one for entry and one for exit, both for patients. Fortunately, she had a small device that would help a lot on that journey. She stepped out of the shower, drying herself quickly with the towel and going to her closet. She had packed a good deal of the clothes of her suitcases on her closet the day before, so she was able to choose faster. Black jeans, a black long-sleeved blouse, and ... Which shoes would be ideal? She couldn’t be heard under any circumstances. Hating her choice, she took flat-heeled sneakers, a particularly old and worn model from her shoe collection. She knew they would help not make noise. They were soft and the sole was well used.

Still in the closet, she opened one of the drawers and found her bag of supplies, as she liked to call it. It was a large handbag, which fit most of her things. She had left most of her “toys” in France, but many of her things she cannot carry on her escape. They were exactly as she’d left them. She pushed aside a stun baton, some handcuffs, a Kahr CW9 that was her pet weapon for it was easy to hide, and finally found what she was looking for. Her wall microphone. It was a practical device that contained a headset and it looked like a wheel that you could touch a sensor attached to it on the wall, or the door, and adjust the volume to be able to hear. Appropriate. It wasn't perfect, but it would do. Should she take a tape recorder too? She liked the idea of turning to something more than memory if she needed some key information about Graham. She would take the recorder.

Before she could give up and retake her rationality, she took the keys to the motorcycle, tied her hair in a tight bun, put on a cold gray bonnet she owned and left the house.

#  **BALTIMORE, MARYLAND, 7:24 P.M.**

Dominica parked the motorcycle a block away from the building that Hannibal used to attend. She walked in quick steps to the place, being able to see in the distance the gothic grids that surrounded it. She was also able to see Will Graham, who appeared to be passing time, as the appointment would begin at 7:30 pm, according to what Hannibal said. She stepped back the moment he started to enter the building, probably going to wait in the waiting room. She had already noticed that he was extremely punctual, a characteristic that she was sure Hannibal enjoyed immensely.

She reviewed some parts of the plan in her head; she should leave before the session’s over so that Hannibal would not smell her when he opened the door for Graham to leave. She knew she was doing that more because of the lack of action in her life currently, she’d been behaving nicely for a long time. She wasn’t born to be a good girl and follow rules, she always had problems with that. It was probably what Hannibal had the most difficulty in containing.

She entered the building promptly at 7:30 pm, opening the backpack the gear was in and beginning to prepare it with skill. Soon, she was ready, and put the headphones on, leaning the device against the door. She adjusted the volume and finally began to capture the session that had been of such interest. She could hear Graham perfectly, his unmistakable voice reaching her loud and clear.

The beginning of the session didn’t interest her very much, but she could see how deep the man was, like an expensive fine wine that’s been aging for a very long time. He had an intense range of feelings, like branches under a tree. A complete network of complex thoughts that started to get her attention.

He started talking about the case the two of them had contemplated earlier that day and Dominica straightened up, now giving him her complete attention. There was no way he wouldn't talk about her now.

“I met a ... It wasn’t very clear what affective connections she had with you. In fact, she came to me…” He seemed to formulate the phrases in a confused way, which Dominica found strange. He didn't seem to know how to bring it up. His tone was a little insecure. “Dominica. She worked with Jack before me.”

“Ah, yes. Dominica’s been a friend of mine for many years.” Hannibal replied, feeding Graham's curiosity. “Dominica is almost family, after so many years of conviviality.”

That was all he said. Dominica waited for Graham to speak. She imagined him pondering Hannibal's words, his mind as analytical as hers evaluating the weight of that sentence and the new information acquired. She had already said that, but through Hannibal's mouth, it became more real because it came from someone he knew and trusted. It was official; Dominica was at the heart of it now.

“She approached me after a class in Quantico. It was ... unusual, to say the least. I’d never met her, but she seemed to  _ unravel _ me.”

Hannibal was silent for a few seconds, and Dominica wondered if he would’ve smiled.

“Dominica can be quite ... canny. She has this effect on people. How was that feeling for you?”

Graham didn’t speak, but she could hear his heavy footsteps through the office. He seemed agitated.

“As if she could see my core. She’s truly perceptive, she could see things that I also saw at the crime scene we visited. Jack knows well enough how to choose his soldiers, that no one can deny.” He added bitterly.

“Do you see yourself as a soldier? Or would you say that is what Jack projects on you, and now also in Dominica?”

Dominica held her breath. Hell, it was a good question. She immediately realized what he was getting at.

“My wars are internalized. Like a soldier, I can't desert them either. Jack knows how to identify who to bring to the battlefield and who should take the lead.”

“In a game of chess, pawns take the lead, and are often sacrificed for a victory that cannot be guaranteed. Tell me, Will, would you say that Jack sees you as a pawn to be sacrificed, or a piece that will guarantee the victory he longs for?”

Dominica checked her watch. Damn it. There was short time left for the end of the session. The conversation was at its peak! She wouldn’t leave now.

“Are you trying to alienate me from Jack Crawford, Dr. Lecter?” Will Graham asked in a vaguely annoyed tone. Dominica had already realized that he was extremely sensitive to what he could pick up from forms of manipulation, and did not respond well to feeling cornered.

“I'm simply trying to understand your feeling about what you brought to me.” Hannibal replied casually, and Dominica could imagine him switching his crossed legs calmly, smiling at the thought.

“She intrigues me.” To change the subject, Graham seemed to have decided to return to the topic that was related to her, and that satisfied her immensely, especially that sentence in question. “I can't figure out her intentions.”

“Not being in control bothers you?”

“You're assuming she's in control, then.”

“If she wasn't, would you have found another way to change the subject to a more comfortable topic?”

Once again, Graham was silent. Dominica realized that Hannibal wanted to understand what intentions, as a matter of saying, Graham had with her. She saw how he, despite everything that had happened, was still there looking after her, her interests. It made her smile slightly.

She checked her watch again. It was less than fifteen minutes to the end of the session. It was time to go.

She put her stuff away and threw the backpack on her back, then making sure that she hadn't left any tracks behind. Only then did she leave the building, walking to where her motorcycle had been parked. She returned home with her head full of relevant thoughts, trying to catalog everything she knew about Will Graham up to that moment. She took another shower, now properly scented, and put on a loose silk nightdress to go to the kitchen and open the oven, taking out the refractory that contained her dinner, attacking it. She was starving. She cleaned everything up and finally went to her room, closing the door and taking the devices out of her backpack, putting back everything she wouldn't use on her bag of supplies and just keeping the recorder.

Dominica lay down on the bed, covering herself and stuffing the headphones in her ears with measured anxiety, putting the recording to play. Before it started, however, she could hear Hannibal's car park outside, and she thought it best to hide the tape recorder by placing it inside the bedside table drawer. She took out her notebook, opened it and turned it on, placing it on any page. After a few minutes, a soft knock on the door made her smile. She gave an "enter" in a calculatedly distracted tone, and Hannibal opened the door, poking his head into the room.

“I hope I'm not disturbing you. ” He said, making her shake her head quickly.

“I'm just reading what the press released about today's case.” She assured him, sighing. “I'm glad to be back, Hannibal. I needed it all. I needed a new meaning.”

Hannibal smiled slightly, but there was a sparkle in the back of his eyes, something that made Dominica raise an eyebrow.

He knew.

“Certainly Jack is happy to have all your perceptiveness back on his team. Have a good night, Dominica.” He said with humor, then closed the door. Dominica pursed her lips, trying to contain a laugh, finally throwing the notebook aside and opening the drawer, taking out the recorder. It played, and Will Graham's voice rang in her ears, and she was able to pay more attention to what had led to the comment about her.

"She intrigues me," Graham said disconcertingly. Dominica raised her eyebrows, turning the recording over so that she could hear the phrase again. And again. And again. Her ego was dangerously inflated, her appreciation for the game making adrenaline boom in her veins.

A small smile played on her lips. It was undoubted. She knew that, at least for the moment, she was in control.


End file.
